CHAPTER V.

ON A HEIGHT.

At last the “final word” before the silence came in form of a telegram—“Safe on board. This will be despatched by pilot on his return. All well.” The exhilaration of feeling that the great scheme was really put a-working carried Lucy over the first consciousness that the silence had begun. Besides, next day there came another alleviation in a kindly letter from Mrs. Grant, the captain’s wife, who wrote that she thought Lucy might like to hear the very latest news of her husband—as she always did, of the captain. She narrated that she and her husband had thought Mr. Challoner looking wonderfully well, considering the great illness he had had, that he would have been in the very best of spirits, if only he had not been leaving his wife and boy behind. She added that, for her own part, she was delighted that her husband should have the boon of Mr. Challoner’s company. The captain was always glad of a pleasant companion, but could seldom hope to secure the society of an old and valued friend such as Mr. Challoner was. She ended by saying that she would not fail to let Lucy have any item of news which might reach her concerning the ship, and could trust Lucy would do the same towards her, especially as Lucy would surely get long letters from Mr. Challoner at every opportunity; whereas “the captain” was often too busy to send anything but the briefest line, and was but a poor correspondent at best.

All this, of course, cheered Lucy greatly, as does always the sympathy of those whose interests are bound up with our own, or at least allied to them. There was also plenty to do. Every housewife knows how her household runs down from the lofty paths of order and precision when there is illness in the home, and everything has to give way to the preservation of a beloved life. Then, too, while her memory of the golden days at Deal was still fresh, Lucy wanted to finish the sketches she had made there. She had always her great ambition, to wit, that by her own work, her teaching and her sketches, she might be able “to keep the house going” without trenching at all on the little store—their all—which Charlie had left with her. It would be so cheering to him to come home and begin life again not a bit poorer than when he went away. While she could do something for Charlie, he seemed not so far off!

Florence Brand appeared less helpful than she had promised to be in securing a servant. She sent Lucy two or three girls from sundry registry offices. Lucy was not much attracted to any of them. One wore long plumes; another had taken a seat in the parlour and did not even rise, as any guest would do, when Mrs. Challoner entered. Lucy was really relieved when she found that they all asked higher wages than she had given while Mr. Challoner was at home—a point which it was, of course, impossible to concede. When she mentioned this to her sister, Florence said—

“Oh, well, they were the nicest of the girls I saw, and I didn’t think a pound or two need make any difference. It is often economy in the end.”

“I know that perfectly,” Lucy answered. “But it would be preposterous for me, under my present circumstances, to pay more for service for two than I have ever paid for service for three. There will be so much less to do. We shall never have two sitting-rooms going at once as we often had when Charlie had evening work; nor late dinner, as we were obliged to have for him coming from his office; nor an occasional hot supper as we had when he could not get home in time for dinner. It will be a very easy place.”

“Used Pollie to do your washing?” asked Florence meditatively.

“Yes,” said Lucy. “She had a weekly small wash. Charlie always wore flannel shirts, so there were only collars and cuffs to starch. Then once a month we had a heavier wash, and a woman came to help. There is a nice little laundry at the back, so that the steam does not go through the house.”

“Servants don’t like doing washing nowadays,” observed Florence.

“Should I come across a nice girl who would agree to take lower wages if I put out most of the things, I would agree to the plan,” Lucy answered. “I will agree to any arrangement which will not cost me more money, for that I absolutely cannot afford.”

“‘Generals’ are so scarce nowadays,” said Mrs. Brand. “A good ‘general’ in a house is as hard to get as a good General in the field. That’s how the saying goes. To get cooks and housemaids is possible. It’s easier still if parlourmaid and nurse are kept. The more the merrier, I suppose.”

“But a general servant is what I want,” returned Lucy, rather stiffly. “Not necessarily a ‘thorough’ one—except in character. Apart from that, I will accept mere cleanliness and willingness.”

She could scarcely keep from adding that Florence’s own experience of a crowd of servants had not seemed so satisfactory as to tempt her into the same lines, even if that were possible. Yet Mrs. Brand’s remarks made her sister uneasy. She began to realise that she would have to place far more confidence in the stranger that should come within her gates than she had ever reposed in the long-familiar Pollie. She had trained Pollie. She had always supervised her. She had given considerable help. Much of this would be impossible now she herself was to be the bread-winner of the household.

She began to realise, too, that for the first time she confronted the difficulties of modern housekeeping. Hitherto, everything had been idyllic. Of course, Pollie had made mistakes sometimes, especially at first, but she had been always willing to learn, honest as sunlight, and clean with rural cleanliness. When Lucy had heard the perpetual grumble and bewailing of the mistresses among her acquaintance, she had, in her secret heart, been inclined to think there was a great deal in the adage “Good mistresses make good servants,” which was often openly and severely enunciated by dignified old dames supported by retainers of twenty or thirty years’ standing. Also she had recognised the defects of her sister Florence’s household management, at once so exacting and so careless. She had owned to herself that if she were a servant, she would not wish to remain in the Brand establishment.

Now she felt, however, that she was driven out upon slippery places, where Florence, however unsuccessful in keeping her feet, yet had some experience where she herself had none. Yet Lucy might have been wiser to have tried her experiments after her own fashion. But a woman happily married and then suddenly deprived of her husband’s counsel and decision, is only too ready to lean upon any reed which offers itself to her hand, especially when her mind is distracted by duties which seem to her of paramount importance.

No suitable maiden had presented herself when Pollie’s departing day arrived. But Mrs. Brand, far from being disconcerted by this, had been thinking it an advisable course of circumstances, and ignoring all Lucy’s wishes in the contrary direction.

“I should prefer to have the two girls here together for a day or two,” Lucy had pleaded; “then the newcomer would see just what was expected from her.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Brand with decision. “Never allow your old servant and your new one to meet. Even in my house, it is always a comfort when there is a regular clearance. The old ones put the stranger up to all your weaker points, tell them just where they can deceive you, and the demands they would advise them to make, ‘if they would begin as they would like to go on.’ Consequently you never really have even the brief advantage of ‘the new broom that sweeps well.’”

“I cannot regard Pollie as a natural enemy,” Lucy answered. “I feel sure she would say the place is a good one, that we are not ill to live with, and that a girl who could not get on with us must be hard to please.”

Mrs. Brand laughed gaily.

“Will you ever learn wisdom, my dear?” she said. “You persist in judging Pollie by yourself. But would you have treated anybody as she has just treated you?—suddenly casting off an old tie precisely at a critical time?”

“Yet it is certainly for a great event in her life,” replied Lucy. “Of course, I feel that in her place I should have acted differently. For one thing, I hate secrecy, and if Pollie had told me of her future intentions the moment they were decided (as I told her of mine), and had not resolved to make the great jump at a moment’s notice, as it were, without any reference to us, then I think there might have been very little trouble in the adjusting of our interests. She might have seen me well over my sorrows and difficulties without much hindrance of her own happiness.”

Mrs. Brand broke into explosions of merriment.

“Pollie and her future intentions!” she echoed. “I daresay she met the man only the week before! With these people, we waste our judgments in quite wrong directions.”

“Pollie told me she had known the man for years,” said Lucy.

“Oh, they always say that,” returned Mrs. Brand. “Their ‘knowing’ means that they have seen the man in the street, or in some shop, or, at best, at their chapel. Pollie was a great hand at chapel-going. I always thought there was something at the bottom of it. Then as for her ‘happiness,’ if these girls knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t marry at all. In less than a year’s time, she will wish she hadn’t. Very likely she will come and tell you so. She will come with a black eye, and a baby in her arms, and she will own she would be glad to come back to you, if it wasn’t for that baby! That has happened to me more than once.”

“Flo, Flo,” cried Lucy, her own heart soft with tender remembrance of her absent husband, “do you think that nobody can be loving and happy save the wealthy and leisurely?”

“I’m not blaming the poor wretches, I’m sure,” Flo defended herself. “If Jem and I had to live in one room, I should not wonder much if he beat me sometimes. He’s cross enough often; but then I can leave him to himself. What would he get like, fancy, if he saw me worn out with cleaning up and nursing, and dressed in rags? When all that comes in at the door, love goes out at the window. Pollie will soon find there is a great difference between workaday reality and the courting times of her evenings out and bank holidays.”

“Well, the love that cannot sustain any conditions that life imposes, has never been love at all. So it is not much loss when it goes!” said Lucy, with an indignant note in her voice. She felt keenly how her own position looked in such eyes as those of Florence and Jem Brand.

“Ah, you live in the grand style—in blank verse, I may say,” Flo went on carelessly. “But that was never my way. Perhaps, after all, each gets what each most cares for. I should not have married Jem, perhaps, if I had been of the blank verse style. But here we are, wandering off into the fields of romance. The business in hand is, let Pollie go. Engage your washerwoman—you say you have one once a month—to come to you every day till you are suited. Then you’ll get at the bottom of all Pollie’s little ways, and will find out what kitchen things you have really got, and what is gone past recovery, down the sink or up the chimney. You can make out new lists, and then the minute you see a suitable girl, there’s the place ready for her, and so she starts fair.”

Lucy resented all Mrs. Brand’s doubts of Pollie. She could not see why a single act of inconsideration and rashness should so condemn character, root and branch, in a servant, when the same would be easily condoned in a friend or relative, and possibly even regarded as rather pretty and romantic; simply another illustration of “all for love and the world well lost.” She knew young men and women, too, who had treated their own parents quite as thoughtlessly as Pollie had treated her master’s household. Lucy had always regarded such conduct with great severity, whereas Flo had only laughed over it, retailing “delicious” incidents of how the “old folks” had been “sold.” This was but another instance of higher standards of conduct being set for the kitchen than for the drawing-room. It had always seemed to Lucy’s chivalrous nature to be a gross injustice that, from those members of society who are presumed, conventionally, to have had the fewest “advantages,” more should be expected than from those who are said to have had “every advantage.” She could not understand it, not yet having learned that this injustice, like all injustice, is rooted in sheer selfishness. Many people care nothing at all for “rights and wrongs” save as these affect their own personal convenience. Many more are seldom brought even to consider “rights and wrongs” until these reach the same point.

Alas, our household state would be actually worse than it is, were not our servants in a general way, at least, more punctual and more “tidy” than many of ourselves!

Notwithstanding Lucy’s instinctive abhorrence of so many of her sister’s domestic standpoints, she yet accepted Mrs. Brand’s advice as to letting Pollie go and having a charwoman interregnum. Indeed, as no other alternative offered, she was forced to accept it.

Pollie went off, tearful and subdued, and full of humbly-expressed hopes “that the master would come back quite strong.”

“It would have troubled him terribly to know you were leaving me just now, Pollie,” said Lucy, sufficiently reconciled to be able to show the wound to the hand which had dealt it. “I believe he would have deferred going away. Yet this is the right season for him to go—to say nothing of the opportunity of going with a good friend. You have made me keep a secret from my husband, Pollie, for the very first time, and the bare thought of it makes me unhappy!”

“Why, it’s the sort o’ secret the angels in heaven must keep for us all!” cried Pollie, who had “Irish blood” on the mother’s side which moved when she was deeply stirred. “Sure, there’s many a thing they must see hanging over our heads that they just manage for us with never a word or a sign, and we never knowing what we should thank them for!”

“Well, Pollie,” said her mistress, “let me hear of you sometimes, I shall be always glad to get good news of you, and you may care to know how we get on.”

Pollie looked grave.

“There’s no fear but you’ll do well enough, ma’am,” she said, with an emphasis on the personal pronoun, which was not without significance in a prospective bride. “There’s many a girl would jump sky high to get into such a place. An’ I’d never have left you for any other missis.”

Lucy felt very lonely when she found herself left in the house with only little Hugh. The charwoman would come early in the morning, but would sleep in her own home as she had sons “to look after.” Lucy put Hugh to bed, heard him say his little prayer for dear papa, and talked about ships to him till he fell asleep, hugging a wooden rabbit which was Pollie’s parting gift. Then Lucy went wandering through the empty rooms. Pollie had left everything in “apple-pie” order. The pathetic traces of Charlie’s illness and convalescence were all cleared away. The kitchen, too, was neat and trim. Lucy mechanically pulled out the drawers, and set open the cupboard doors. All was as it should be, and Lucy was deeply thankful that Pollie had left behind no further disappointment in herself. For the hushed heart of yearning sorrow and anxiety shrinks from those squalid revelations of human nature, which torture it much as vermin might torment a helpless invalid.

Under the infliction of Pollie’s bustle and Mrs. Brand’s chatter, Lucy had actually longed for this quiet hour. She had craved for the silence and the solitude in which it had seemed to her that her spirit might get nearer to the absent Charlie. For a brief spell there was sweetness in it, but it was not long before she felt that it might become a perilous and painful luxury. When she had gone through the house, giving here and there the little touch which must be always left for the hand of the mistress, and when there was absolutely nothing more to do that night, then she found that she realised not so much any spiritual communion with Charlie, as the silence and separation which lay between them.

“I have been wrong,” she said to herself. “I have been fancying lately that the peculiar weight of my cross lay in the need for bearing it together with petty money cares, and with work for which one must brace oneself up, and shut away one’s mere personal feelings. Now I begin to see that these are less added weights than props on which from time to time the burden of a great trial may rest till it is almost lifted from one’s own strength.”

“We are taught, too,” she went on musingly, “that we can best approach God and serve Him by our service to others—the simple service which comes naturally out of our living and working among them. Does it not, therefore, seem reasonable that in the same fashion we may also best approach and serve those whom we love—the parted—or the dead?” and Lucy’s lips quivered. “It is the day’s hard work, too, which gives the sweet sleep and the good dreams! How absurd it sounds to put into words what is really the wonderful discovery that one makes, sooner or later (though one is always forgetting it!), to wit, that God knows what is best for His children, and that if they keep in His ways, they shall find the food and the tasks that are the most ‘convenient’ for them.”

“I thank Thee, my Father,” she said aloud, clasping her hands together as she stood in the shadowy little parlour, “I thank Thee that Thou hast filled my hands with duties so that I need have no empty hour. I thank Thee that my love for Charlie may run, woven into my love for Thee, through all my work and all my thoughts—the golden thread, which binds all together into a chaplet, not indeed meet to present to Thee, yet which Thou wilt accept, because it is Thy daughter’s offering. And I thank Thee—oh, how I thank Thee!—for the little child Thou hast given me, to whom I must be, for a while, both mother and father too. And, Father, be with Charlie in his ship tossing on Thy seas. Give him sweet sleep and happy dreams. Make him feel assured that all is well—with Hugh and me.” She paused; she could not bring herself to pray. “Bring him home safely, if it be Thy will.” She could only say, “Father, we are in Thy will, and there we are safe—and together—always!”

Nobody was there to see her then, or they would have marked the shining of her face—for she had been with God. But such mounts of transfiguration rise abruptly from the broil and bicker of life’s dusty plain, and often it is when we descend from them that we encounter the demons!

(_To be continued._)

THE GIRL’S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS COMPETITION.

WHO ARE THE PRIZE-WINNERS AND CERTIFICATE-HOLDERS?

EXAMINERS: JAMES MASON AND THE EDITOR.

There are no girls more engaging than those who are trying to do or to be something of value, and having said that, our opinion may be inferred of the numerous company who have worked so diligently during the three months of this interesting competition. It has been an affair of “long breath,” and has proved this, if it has proved anything, that our girls are of the right sort.

That it has been enjoyed is clear from many letters received from competitors. “It has taken up a good deal of time,” writes one girl, “but the time has been well spent, because the questions asked were of real value, and to be able to answer at least the greater number of them, might be regarded as a general test of our being well informed.”

The competition was chiefly a lesson in the art of hunting up information, an art always of service. The questions were not to be replied to by guess-work, or by the exercise of a ready imagination. In the preparation of their papers, girls learned how to make good use of books of reference, and some communicative ones have told us that they have thereby gained a clearer notion than they ever entertained before of the value of such works as the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, Chambers’s _Encyclopædia_, Haydn’s _Dictionary of Dates_, Dr. Brewer’s _Phrase and Fable_, the _Imperial Dictionary_, and Chambers’s _Book of Days_.

We noticed that THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER volumes had proved to many a perfect library of knowledge and, indeed, it is not too much to say that a diligent study of the back numbers of this periodical would have enabled anyone to answer nearly all the questions without consulting any other work whatever.

A pleasing feature in the competition was that girls, as a general rule, improved as they went on. One who had a third-class place at the start would end in the second rank, and a second-class girl would become a first. This is as it should be. Few—hardly any—began well and then relapsed into inaccuracy and carelessness.

A good number—but not so many as we expected—failed to send in all the three instalments of papers. Sometimes, perhaps, they grew tired, and sometimes illness and circumstances over which they had not control may have prevented them. These, of course—if they have obtained a place at all—have not got so good a place as if they had replied, or tried to reply, to the whole seventy-two questions.

The most important feature of the answers was accuracy, and both in that and in the manner in which the sense was expressed, competitors did very well indeed. Where the answers admitted of a difference of opinion, we saw many signs of intelligence and of a desire to think and investigate for oneself that cannot be too strongly commended and encouraged.

Occasionally girls were rather sparing of their words. Brevity may be the soul of wit, but it does not quench one’s thirst for information. A yes, a no, a name, or a date, neither makes entertaining reading nor forms a sufficient test of a girl’s knowledge of the subject under discussion. But we have nothing but praise for a girl—though she did not win a certificate—who says, “I have not given long answers, but I have done my best.”

We said that neatness would count, and in some cases the want of it was what told against a girl, turning the scale and landing her in a class lower than she would otherwise have occupied.

What reasonable excuse can be given for one who writes, with perhaps careless penmanship, on paper of all sizes, and of different colours too, and with rough edges, as if it had been torn in the rudest manner out of a copybook? If our untidy friends went to call on a stranger, they would surely wish to look smart, and by looking smart to create a good impression. Now, sending even a scrap of paper to anyone—let it be a letter or anything else—to which our name is attached is just like paying a visit. What we send should be made to look as neat as we ourselves would wish to be if we went in person.

We do not say that a good paper in this competition was invariably a neat one, or that originality and freshness had not sometimes an untidy appearance, but the general rule was that if a girl had taken real pains, she showed it in the manner in which she turned out her work, as well as in the matter.

A bit of ribbon, a paper-fastener, an illuminated letter, the ruling of a line, the folding of a page—these may be trifles, but we are judged by trifles when there is no other means of judging. So, you girls who have occasioned these remarks—only a few in number you were—be very careful next time.

Here is another weak point. Why don’t some girls obey rules? The papers were to be fastened together—see the rules—and some did not fasten them. They were to be fastened at the left-hand top corner—see the rules—and some did it on the right. The name was to be put on the back of the last page of each instalment—see the rules—and some put it on the front page. Names and ages were to be given—see the rules—and no fewer than twenty papers failed to find a place because their writers had omitted one or other of these two important particulars.

We want our girls to be models of common sense, and does not common sense suggest that by obeying instructions we get more consideration than if we do not? It is only a bit of worldly wisdom, girls, for all who take part in competitions, that you ought to try to keep examiners in a genial humour. Never ruffle their patience if you can avoid it. Sometimes a little neglect gives a good deal of trouble that ought to have been saved. However, we shall let defaulters off this time with a caution that if they ever appear before our High Court again on a similar charge, we shall be a great deal more severe.

The most difficult task connected with the competition has been laid on the shoulders of the examiners, for much painstaking has been required to decide as to the merits of papers where so many were good, so few second-rate, and such a trifling number meriting nothing but a “Let us try to do better next time.” The result of our examination is given in the following list of successful competitors, in which will be found the names of all the prize-winners and certificate-holders.

[_Note:_ Two girls under the age at which the competition began, and fifteen over the age at which it terminated, sent in papers. To one of the two juniors, and to two of the fifteen seniors, a certificate has been awarded.]

THE SUCCESSFUL COMPETITORS.

THIRTEEN AND FOURTEEN YEARS OF AGE.

PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).

Hancock, Elsie L., South Norwood Park, S.E.

PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).

Pearson, Edith R., Manchester.

PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).

Moore-Bayley, Marjory, Barnt Green, Worcestershire.

FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Stapleton, Marjorie, Bradford. Wolton, Kathleen, Ixworth, Suffolk.

SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Buchanan, Stella, Regent’s Park, N.W. Chettle, Edith Mary, Trowbridge, Wilts. Loader, Ada Winifred, Brighton.

THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Clews, Marjorie Winifred, Wylde Green, near Birmingham. Hollett, Ellen Louisa, Farnborough, Hants. Read, Phœbe Gertrude Mary, Pembroke, Ontario. Shield, Kate Olive, Ramsey, Isle of Man. Spedding, Blanche, Keswick, Cumberland. Sprott, Elise Isabel, Harrington, Cumberland. Stokoe, Ethel, Hay, Brecknockshire. Streatfeild, Evelyn, Edenbridge, Kent.

FIFTEEN AND SIXTEEN YEARS OF AGE.

PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).

Fountain, Margaret Allan, Bowes Park, N.

PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).

Batchelor, Grace Emily, Wantage, Berks.

PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).

Murray, Margaret M., Rutherglen, Scotland.

FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Dominy, Norah Catherine, Weymouth, Dorset. Garland, Marjory, Northfield, Birmingham.

SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Brasnett, Lucy, Gt. Yarmouth, Norfolk. Browne, Dorothy, Whitchurch, Hants. Caudle, Margaret Evelyn, Southsea, Hants. Coote, Nina Edith, Athlone. Cromie, Gladys Catherine Josephine, Regent’s Park, N.W. Farwell, Irene M., Burnham, Berks. Kruger, Flora Aline, Berkdale, Lancashire. Le Marchand, Henriette, Paris. Robinson, Mabel, Hornsey, N. Sheppard, Amy, Keynsham. Spackman, Mildred Lucy, Clithero, Lancashire.

THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Breen, Alice Fanny, Pensford, Bristol. Cadman, Agnes M., Stourport, Worcestershire. Cunningham, Dora, Northampton. Dalton, Muriel, Attleborough, Norfolk. Fromberg, Grete, Berlin. Grierson, Emily Hannah Morton, Crimea, South Russia. “Heliotrope,” Littleboro’, near Manchester. “Marguerite,” Alford, Lincolnshire. Midgley, Winifred, Grange-over-Sands, Lancashire. Normandale, Margaret Rotherford, Knighton, Radnorshire. Sievwright, Rosalie Marie, Burnbank, Lanark. Sturgess, Kitty, Derby. Thomas, Magdeleine, Antwerp. Yeoman, Gertrude Maud, Scarborough.

SEVENTEEN AND EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE.

PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).

“Celandine,” Newbury, Berks.

PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).

Klaje, May Louise, Stoke Newington, N.

PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).

Coote, Cecilia C., Mountratu, Ireland.

FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Ballard, Elizabeth Anne, Ledbury, Herefordshire. Bateman, Marie Catherine, Whitchurch, Berks. Bowen, Leila Mary, Ludlow, Shropshire. Coverley, Kathleen Emily, Oporto, Portugal. Freeman, A. Ethelwyn G., Hornsey Rise, N. Hankin-Turvin, Eva, Oswestry. Kent, Madeleine Agnes, Wallington, Surrey. Laws, Florence Mary, East Ham. Le Mottée, Mary Emily, Tunbridge Wells. “Robin Hood,” Herne Hill, S.E. Slous, Eliza D., Jersey. Voller, Katie Agnes, Gloucester. “Wild Clematis,” Drury Lane, W.C. “Woodbine,” Wolverhampton.

SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Bryant, Lilian, Ilminster, Somerset. Burgess, Dora, Peckham, S.E. Cross, Florence, Egham. Dendy, H. May, Bishop Sutton, near Bristol. Dilly, Nora E., Saxmundham, Suffolk. Henderson, Jane, Lockerbie. Hobson-Cooke, Ethel, Birmingham. Hodges, Lily E., Bridport, Dorset. Hunt, Jessie, Beverley, Yorkshire. Macnaughton, Janie Kennedy, Taynuilt. Maitland-Kirwan, Matilda R., Castle Douglas, N. B. “Periwinkle,” Blaxhall, Suffolk. Pugh, J. M., Towyn, Merionethshire. Thomas, Florence May, Swansea. Thorpe, Mabel, Sheffield. Tompkins, Gertrude, Lyons, France. “Violet,” Scarborough. Walpole, Edith, West Kensington. Young, Eva, Dublin.

THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Baker, Elma Chiswell, Bewdley, Worcestershire. Brewster, Margaret, Halstead, Essex. Cassels, Kate Kennedy, Villa Nova de Gaya, Portugal. Connell, Eveline D., Northallerton, Yorkshire. Daniel, Lena Mary, Puerto de Santa Maria, Spain. Harris, Marguerita, Bristol. Hayes, Rosa Franci, Loughton, Essex. Hoon, Mabel, Anerley. Insley, Adelaide, Westcott, Dorking. Kelsey, Henrietta, Norton, Isle of Wight. “Lily of the Valley,” Basing, Hants. Marlow, Hannah, Birmingham. Metcalfe, Alice M., Ripon, Yorks. Moule, Ethel May, Witnesham, near Ipswich. Oliver, Dorothy, Whitwell, Isle of Wight. Ralph, Elsie Margaret, Crown Hill, Devon. Robinson, Eleanor Elizabeth, Kinsale. Salone, Volinia, Alexandria, Egypt. Saunders, Winnifred Norman, Old Charlton, Kent. “Sweetbriar,” Odiham, Hants.

NINETEEN AND TWENTY YEARS OF AGE.

PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).

Carmichael, Elizabeth A., Malvern.

PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).

Bowen, Mildred, Ludlow, Shropshire.

PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).

“Pansy,” Beverley, E. Yorks.

FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Andrews, Janet, Hull. Avens, Ada Louise, Southsea, Hants. Barr, Ethel, Gloucester. “Cherry Blossom,” Stourbridge. Darbyshire, Margery, Knutsford, Cheshire. “Four-leaved Shamrock,” Alverstoke, Hants. Garland, Dorothy, Northfield, Birmingham. Hartill, Nellie, Willenhall, Staffordshire. “Lilium Auratum,” Retford. Motherwell, Chris. B., Airdrie, N.B. Plumbe, Gertrude B., Mansfield. Richardson, Bertha, Bowes Park, N. Sulivan, Eleanor Sophia, Tunbridge Wells. Wyatt-Smith, Maud, Shepherd’s Bush, W.

SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Averill, Winifred Mary, Stafford. Beckett, Margaret, Heywood, Manchester. Brown, Daisy, Hayes, Middlesex. Grigg, Ethel, Streatham. Harris, Elizabeth J., Redhill. Little, Eleanor Margaret, Bishop’s Lydeard. Mann, Mary Harriet, Folkingham. Pilkington, Dolly, Dublin. Poole, Olive Maria, Acton, W. “Scarlet Geranium,” Harrow. Sich, Isabel Fanny, Chiswick Mall. Stephens, May D., Bridgnorth, Salop.

THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

“Blue Bell,” Rothesay, Bute. Chantrill, Kate E., Birmingham. “Chrysanthemum,” Ashford, Kent. Clague, Muriel Lace, Crouch End, N. Cleare, Winifred Fanny, Hayward’s Heath. Dunning, Lynette Aileen Gertrude, Durban, Natal. Kennard, Beatrice Nellie, Cheltenham. Lampitt, Catherine A., Upper Tooting, S.W. Stanley, Emily Thorold, Washingboro’, Lincoln. Stebbing, Diana Vivian, Tunbridge Wells. Strang, Helen, Govan, N.B. “Sweet Violets,” Devizes, Wilts. Tinney, Mabel Emily, Hove, Sussex. Warren, Margaret, Stevenage, Herts.

TWENTY-ONE, TWENTY-TWO, AND TWENTY-THREE YEARS OF AGE.

PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).

“White Heather,” Barnet, Herts.

PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).

Vincent, Agnes Mary, London, S.W.

PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).

Tomlinson, Ethel Mary, Burton-on-Trent.

FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

“Alpine Rose,” Edgbaston, Birmingham. Barnett, Mary F. B., St. Leonard’s-on-Sea. Crossman, Hilda, Berwick-upon-Tweed. Dowling, May, Weston-super-Mare. Forster, Evelyn Agnes, Wokingham, Berks. Fyson, Alice Matilda, Bath. Gaze, Lily Ethel, Norwich. Grundy, Lilian, Ashton-under-Lyne. Hayward, Edith Mary, Devizes, Wilts. Hickling, Jessie, Sydenham, S.E. Kellow, Ethel Mary Varcoe, Ceylon. “Lily of the Valley,” Knebworth, Herts. McLachlan, Nellie, Edinburgh. Moon, Ethel Gay, Bridgend, S. Wales. Sykes, Ada Fanny, Calcutta. Welman, Veronica Mary, Clapham Common.

SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Ault, Clarissa Jane, Church Gresley. Bartlett, Ethel, Southampton. “Californian Poppy,” Santa Barbara, California. Cortissos, Freda Mary, Shrewsbury. “Crocus,” Joppa, near Edinburgh. “Daffodil,” Bristol. Daft, Nellie Matilda, Lisbon, Portugal. Gall, Alice, Edinburgh. Green, Emma, Tarkastad, Cape Colony. “Heather,” Truro, Cornwall. “Lily of the Valley,” Bath. “Marguerite,” Leamington. Perrett, Elizabeth, Chipping Sodbury, Gloucestershire. Pocock, H. E. Daisy, North Kensington, W. Polden, Katharine, Grove Park, Kent. Sellers, Violet, Porto, Portugal. “Shamrock,” Blundellsands, near Liverpool. “Sweet Pea,” Wood Green, N. Tayler-Allen, N., Bray, Co. Wicklow. “Wild Rose,” Dundalk, Co. Louth.

THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

Baiden, Rose, Bromley, Kent. Blakeley, Amy V., East Boscombe. Boulderson, Mary, Reading. Bray, Evelyn, Broadclyst, near Exeter. “Christmas Rose,” Leyton. “Dandelion,” London, S.W. Haynes, Edith Sarah, London, S.W. Hodgkinson, Margaret N., Heywood. “Lily of the Valley,” Ryde, Isle of Wight. Pilkington, A. B., Dublin. Roberts, Sophie Caroline, Inniscorthy. Ruffle, Emily A., Palmer’s Green, N. Scarlett, Ada, London, W. “Scotch Thistle,” Glasgow. Squire, Grace M., Harrowgate, Yorks. “White Iris,” Alton, Hants.

UNDER THIRTEEN.

SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATE.

Emerson, Josephine, Bray, Ireland.

OVER TWENTY-THREE.

FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.

McIntosh, Kate Isabel, Brockley, S.E. White, Katharine E., London, E.C.

⁂ The Examiners’ Report on the third and last twenty-four questions will be published next month.—ED.

OUR SUPPLEMENT STORY COMPETITION.

THE DEAF GIRL NEXT DOOR: A STORY IN MINIATURE.

FIRST PRIZE (£2 2s.).

Margaret Kelly, Douglas, Isle of Man.

SECOND PRIZE (£1 1s.).

Florence Roche, Torquay.

THIRD PRIZE (10s. 6d.).

Eva M. Moore, Wigton, Cumberland.

HONOURABLE MENTION.

Mary Adèle Venn, West Kensington Park. “Saguin,” Stoke Newington. Florence Townsend, Deaf and Dumb Institution, Edgbaston. Ada A. Gaze, Norwich. Mary de Lacy White, Dumfriesshire, N.B. “Excelsior,” Co. Tipperary, Ireland. “Una,” Wickham Market, Suffolk. Jessie A. Byford, Deaf Institute, Derby. Lucy Bourne, Winchester. Margaret W. Rudd, Anerley. Mabel Gibson, Wandsworth Common, S.W. Barbara Macadam, Stoke Newington. Martha Harman, Bromley, Kent. Emma Barrie, Plymouth. Ethel M. W. Cleveland, Bedford. Margaret Moscrop, Saltburn-by-the-Sea. L. M. Barber, Brixton. Florence Hutchinson, Wellingborough.

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MY DEAR GIRLS,—I have read with much pleasure the large number of essays sent in by readers of “The Deaf Girl” because almost all of them show such a thorough appreciation of, and sympathy with, the purpose of the story. I am sorry to disqualify seventeen, from disregard of the rule that they must confine themselves to one page of foolscap only. A great many pass over the more important incidents of the story and give undue prominence to details. Others again dilate too much on the first part of the book, and have to crowd the latter. But I heartily thank all who express sympathy with my object and a desire to aid the afflicted class of whom I write. If I could induce one or two of you even to become workers (so much needed) in this service, I should indeed rejoice, and feel that my little story has accomplished its end.

HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.

OUR NEW PUZZLE POEM.

SPECIAL NOTE.—By way of novelty, an anagramic difficulty has been introduced into the following puzzle. Five words, consisting of five letters each, have been omitted. Each word consists of the same five letters transposed, so that when one is found the others can easily be constructed.

ONE GUINEA will be reserved for the best solutions of solvers who prefer to ignore the anagram. In these solutions the words omitted must be indicated by stars as in the puzzle.

⁂ PRIZES to the amount of six guineas (one of which will be reserved for competitors living abroad) are offered for the best solutions of the above Puzzle Poem. The following conditions must be observed:—

1. Solutions to be written on one side of the paper only.

2. Each paper to be headed with the name and address of the competitor.

3. Attention must be paid to spelling, punctuation, and neatness.

4. Send by post to Editor, GIRL’S OWN PAPER, 56, Paternoster Row, London. “Puzzle Poem” to be written on the top left-hand corner of the envelope.

5. The last day for receiving solutions from Great Britain and Ireland will be June 17, 1899; from Abroad, August 16, 1899.

The competition is open to all without any restrictions as to sex or age.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

MEDICAL.

ORIENT asks us for “a method of permanently removing fat from her nose.” But as she says “sometimes it disappears altogether, and at other times it becomes very thick,” we can tell her for certain that her nose does not get swollen from a deposit of fat. When fat deposits in the nose, it comes to stay. Let her use an ointment of calamine or ichthiol, and attend to her digestion.

MADGE.—Colour blindness is an incurable condition. It is congenital and frequently hereditary. There are various grades of the affection. The three primary colours (physiological) are red, green, and violet, and there is a separate set of nervous cells to appreciate each of these primary colours. In colour blindness one or more of these sets of cells are absent. Thus colour-blind persons are blind to red, to green, or to violet, or to two or all of these. Total colour blindness is uncommon. Very frequently the subjects of colour blindness are quite ignorant of their condition.

WORRIED.—Read the answer to “Orient.” Though indigestion is the commonest cause of red noses, there are other causes such as diseases of the nose and feeble circulation. In your case undoubtedly the chief factor at work is the last. You should dress yourself warmly, and always wear a veil when you go out for a walk. Take a nutritious but easily digestible diet with plenty of warm milk. Always wash in warm water. Locally you may use the ichthiol ointment or a little cold cream.

OUR GIRLS’ BROTHER.—The question of the intermarrying of cousins is a very important one, and deserves a little consideration. The whole question turns upon hereditary tendency. Let us take an example. Miss Smith is going to marry Mr. Jones. The woman brings to the union the hereditary tendencies and the family peculiarities of the Smith family. Mr. Jones brings those of the Jones family. The future Master Jones will inherit the tendencies of both his parents, and his mind may be represented as partaking of the following, “self-Jones-Smith.” That is to say, he has inherited something from the Jones family and something from the Smith family to add to his own original self, which, of course, is far the most important item. But suppose these persons who are going to marry are cousins: here there is only one family’s tendencies to be inherited, so their offsprings will get a little less to inherit, but the tendencies which they do inherit, being derived from both parents, will be very much more marked. The result of the constant intermarriage of relatives is to strengthen the family tendencies, and to render the minds of the future generations one-sided but not, if the family is a healthy one, incompetent. So there is little or nothing against the intermarriage of cousins once or perhaps twice. And there would be but little against constant intermarriage in a family which was absolutely healthy, which in the human race is practically impossible. Now suppose, in a family, one member becomes insane, a misfortune which may happen to anybody; the future generations from that family will be slightly more liable to become insane than are ordinary people. If the brother of the man who went insane married a perfectly healthy girl, the tendency of their child to become insane diminishes, because one of his parents brings a good family history. But if this brother marries one of his relations, their child is far more likely to become insane, because both his parents have bad family histories. The long and short of the matter is this; there is no reason, from a medical point of view, why cousins should not marry if both are healthy, and if their family history is good.

MASSIE.—We can understand your alarm when the surgeon suggested that he should “cut you open to see what is the matter with you.” But you did very wrong in refusing to give your consent to the procedure. It is exceedingly common to open the abdomen to discover the cause of obscure diseases. Many persons may think that it is not justifiable to perform an operation merely to satisfy curiosity. If this is the way you put it, we agree with you. It is criminal to perform an operation merely to satisfy curiosity! But such a thing is never done. We open the abdomen to find out the actual cause of obscure diseases in that locality; but we do so, not so much to establish a diagnosis as to see if the disease is capable of removal. Nowadays abdominal section of this kind is a trivial manœuvre, and although there is a certain amount of risk in the procedure, it is nothing when compared with the danger of allowing a progressive disease to run its course unchecked. From your letter, we take it that the surgeon thinks that you have something obstructing your bowels—he does not know what. It is very seldom possible to tell what these diseases really are without exploring. He asks you for your consent to let him open your abdomen, see what the disease is, remove it if possible, and if not, to express a definite opinion upon it. You say, “What a terrible thing it would be, if he cut me and found nothing!” It would certainly be a pity, but, after all, what better news can you wish for?

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[Transcriber’s Note: The following changes have been made to this text.

Page 483: gratitute to gratitude—“sincere gratitude”.]